


Five Minutes More

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [277]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Bottom Erik Lehnsherr, Feelings Realization, M/M, Morning After, Penetrative Sex, Pining while fucking, not the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 11:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19392769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Charles was, to Erik’s knowledge, the only creature in existence who could make his own smugness sound sexy.





	Five Minutes More

“I don’t know how to do this, Charles.”

The bedclothes behind him stirred. “Do what?”

“This.” Erik felt his face flush; he was grateful that he’d turned his back. “Whatever comes after last night. It’s not as if--this isn’t a situation where either of us can just walk away.”

“Well,” Charles said, his voice as rumpled as the sheets, “I suppose we could; there are no bars on the windows, old boy. But what I’m hearing you say is that you don’t want to.”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Good. I’d hate to think that after all this, it was my cock that scared you off.”

Erik snorted. “Is that what you were going for?”

He felt the warm snake of Charles’ body curl behind him, a press of that insouciant mouth on his back, the edge of his hip. “Why else would I have insisted on having you twice, darling? And once on that damnable rug. God, my knees are torn to bits."

The well-worn oriental rug in front of the hearth, the chessboard knocked over, the white bishop just within reach. Charles looming over him, beaming, his mouth slick with drink and with Erik’s own, the tight knot of their argument--what had it been about, again?--long since forgotten. Erik’s blood stretched it arms at the memory. 

“I liked that,” he said.

“I know.”

Charles was, to Erik’s knowledge, the only creature in existence who could make his own smugness sound sexy. It was damned annoying sometimes. And sometimes, like now, as he sat naked on the edge of Xavier’s bed with the man so close, with his grin moving in soft circles over the base of Erik’s back, it made him want to show his belly, to turn over like a turtle and let Charles have at him, to let him devour all Erik was eager to give him when they were like this, when the shell was gone, the anger and suspicion, leaving only desire behind.

But they’d never been like this before, which was precisely the problem. Oh, they’d fucked before, even had sex on occasion in one another’s bed, but they’d never spent a whole night together before, never spent the soft hours after sex wound together in sleep. Erik, so far back as he could remember, had never done so in his life, not out of any particular antipathy for the act, but not out of any affection for it, either. Never before had there been any compelling reason to stay.

Last night, though, Charles had had him in front of the fire--loudly and with great mutual pleasure--and neither of them had been sated. Neither had been the first to let go.

“Come to my room,” Charles had whispered in his ear, sweat dripping from his disheveled hair. “I’m not done with you yet, my friend.”

And so they had dressed and so they had scuttled through the dark halls of the mansion, up the stairs and up and straight on to the right, and landed in Charles’s room, a single lamp lit, and found each other again in Charles’s big, decadent bed, Erik braced over fat downy pillows as Charles sank slick fingers inside him, humming, rubbing his mouth along the line of Erik’s spine.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he’d murmured, his voice thicker than before--and not, it had seemed to Erik, from drink. “I am so very ready for you, darling. I want you to be ready for me.”

There’d been a snap in Erik’s throat, words like a dragon, but they’d been tamed by Charles’s hands, by the firm press of his fingers, by the tremor his tenderness, so different from the gleeful roar of the man who had yanked his trousers down and fucked him a hand’s breadth from the fire. So what had come out then had been senseless, not so much speech but emotion: a low, drawn-out whine that had only stopped when Charles had sworn against his neck and drawn back his fingers and eased his cock in greedily, gently; one long, aching stretch that had sent stars behind Erik’s eyes, diamonds, a cascade of heat and of light.

In the end, he’d found himself on his haunches, hauled back into the spread of Charles’s lap, and he’d come like that, stroking himself full and past while Charles groaned in his ear, in his mind, his teeth biting softly at Erik’s neck, and in the end, Charles had followed him over, pulsing even as Erik was still dripping over his fist, and the sound he’d made when he’d done so would linger in Erik’s mind all the days of his life.

“My darling,” Charles had said when speech was possible, when sleep rushed towards them, “oh, my darling Erik. My sweet.”

There were hours between then and now, the stretch of a half dozen dreams, and in the morning sun barely held back by the curtains, it was the tenderness of the night before that had pushed Erik to slide out from the covers and to perch shaking at the edge of Charles’s bed. Cutting off arguments with a stroke and a kiss, that was one thing; this kind of lingering sort of lovemaking, quite another. It bothered him how much he liked it--how much he liked waking up with Charles stretched out beside him, their legs tangled, his hair soft on Erik’s shoulder, his breathing steady and sleepy and warm.

Charles’s hand found his side, squeezed. “Erik?”

“Hmmm?”

“Come back to bed.”

He shivered. Tried to play it off. “I’m still in your bed, Charles.”

“No, you’re _on_ my bed. That’s a very different thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Charles laughed. “Says the man with an erection who’s trying to escape my bed.”

Erik’s cock jerked unhelpfully. “I’m not trying to escape.”

“Mmm, but you’re not putting that to good use either, are you? A pity, that.”

That smugness again, god. “Oh, yes? What would you suggest that I do with it, Professor?”

“I’d very much like to have it in my mouth. I do like it when you drip.”

“I’m not--” 

“The hell you're not. I can smell it.” A nip at his ribs. “Did you think think I wouldn’t notice that, hmm? When are you going to figure out that you can't hide from me, Erik?"

“I’m not trying to hide from you, Charles.”

“Aren’t you?” A whisper, a rumble. “Aren’t you?”

And then they were kissing, a great fumble, a crush, Erik falling and Charles catching him, turning him and rolling on top, kissing deep.

“God, you do want it, don’t you?” Charles got out between kisses. "Look how hard you are. Christ."

“Yes,” Erik panted. He spread his knees, tried to trap Charles inside them. “Charles, please.”

“Charles, please--what? Hmmm?” A suck at his neck, a sharp pinch at his nipple. “Ask precisely, darling. I have so many ideas of my own. Tell me what you want.”

The stars were back now, blazing behind Erik’s lids. He clutched at Charles’s hips. “Inside me, you ass.”

“Don’t call me names when you’re trying to get me to fuck you.”

“Why not? It usually works.” He bit Charles’s lip. “You fucking love it when I goad you.”

“Well then,” said Charles Xavier, breathless, “since you fucking love it when I fuck you, I think that’s what’s called a win-win.”

The morning after, Erik found, much to his surprise, could be a very pleasant prospect. Especially when that morning lingered and lingered and found its way into noontime, and past.

“We should get up,” Charles said, after a long, sweet time. “We really should. I’m starving. And you, my dear, are in rather desperate need of a shower.”

Erik pulled him closer, hummed when Charles’s arms wound their way around his neck. “Mmmm,” he sighed. “Five more minutes, _liebling,_ eh? Please. _Noch einmal bitte_.”


End file.
